


Love Shall Slumber On

by augendandaddend



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canon Era, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Sad Merlin, They meet as children, Uther Finds Out About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), confused arthur, first multi chapter fic, imprisoned merlin, merlin disappears, they forget each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augendandaddend/pseuds/augendandaddend
Summary: Merlin and Arthur meet when they are young, and continue to see each other on the sporadic visits Hunith and Merlin make to Camelot. They become quick friends and get closer and closer as they grow. Until Merlin dies.Years pass and Arthur has forgotten all about Merlin. Or he tries to. Out of boredom, he wanders into the dungeons and finds a boy claiming to have been imprisoned in Camelot for years. Something about him keeps Arthur secretly visiting the sorcerer, who introduces himself as Emrys.
Relationships: Arthur Pendragon & Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Hunith & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hunith & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 217





	1. Music, when soft voices die

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I'm now single again (yay!) and have been brewing on this fic idea for a bit now. Not sure how often it'll get updated, but I'm going to try and write as much as my tiny brain will allow me lol

Music, when soft voices die,  
Vibrates in the memory—  
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,  
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,  
Are heaped for the belovèd's bed;  
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,  
Love itself shall slumber on.  
\- 'Music, When Soft Voices Die' by Percy Shelley  
~~  
A little blond boy was running through the knights’ training field when he suddenly tripped on a rock protruding out of the ground. Not catching himself on time, the boy fell face-first into the particularly dry and hard patch of ground (Really, he couldn’t have done this in the more grassy areas?). His chin caught the rough dirt and rocks, along with his forearms and palms.  
At first, nothing. A few seconds of peace allowed him to get air into his lungs once again. Then, the burning pain spread across his wounds. With a few grunts, he got up while trying to stop the tears threatening to escape his eyes.

“Arthur!”

The boy turned to see his father and a couple of knights running over to him. With a trembling lip, he began to walk to the bigger man, “F-Father!”

Once his father was in front of Arthur, the little boy held up his arms, as he does to the servants and maids in the castle. However, instead of picking him up and asking where it hurt, his father grabbed his shoulder to hold him at arm’s length, “A little fall like that won’t break anything, but I want you to go straight to Gaius and have him clean those scrapes. There’s a feast tonight, so don’t wander around afterward, you hear me?”

Arthur sniffed and blinked away more tears, “Yes, father.”

When he finally made it across the castle to Gaius’s chambers, he could hear the physician speaking to someone. He pushed the heavy wooden door open with a creak and heard the voices drop to silence.  
Gaius was standing at his table, and when he turned, a woman was sitting on a stool beside him. She had dark hair and a soft, worn face. Though, not as worn as Gaius’s.

“Ah, Prince Arthur,” Gaius pointedly said and came to stand in front of him. “What can I do for you?”

Arthur stared up at the graying man, then turned his palms up to show the injuries, “I fell…”

“I can see that. Let me get a rag and some herbs, you can go sit next to Hunith.”

Hunith? Arthur looked at the woman again, who was giving him a gentle smile and nodding at the empty stool next to her. He hesitantly walked to the table and climbed onto the stool, the wood visibly chipping and splintering on the legs.  
Arthur chose to gaze around Gaius’s workplace instead of the woman next to him. Plenty of vials, bowls, bundles of plants, and a mortar and pestle. He notices a couple tied up bags and a satchel next to the staircase that leads up into a room that Gaius uses as a supply closet.

“So, you’re Prince Arthur?” The woman speaks up.

He snaps his head to face Hunith and awkwardly shrugs, “Yes.”

“That must have been a nasty fall, eh?” Hunith leans forward to look at his chin and hands. He could still feel the burning and stinging with every move. “Looks like it hurts. If it were me, I’d be crying from pain.”

“Princes don’t cry.”

“No? Must be exhausting.”

“No…” When he feels his eyes well up again, he looks at Hunith in panic.

She only smiles and raises her hand to run her fingers through his golden locks. She says nothing when the thick tears stream down his cheeks and he begins to sniffle and hiccup. Hunith doesn’t mention that her own son is a quiet crier. No matter how many scrapes and bruises, he never lets out a single sob. Well, not since he was a baby.

Gaius comes around the table again and sets his materials down on the wood top. The old physician wets the cloth and gently wipes away the dirt and blood in Arthur’s scrapes, and apologizes when Arthur whines from pain, “We have to make sure you’re presentable for your birthday feast, don’t we?”

“Oh! It’s your birthday? News doesn’t travel much to Ealdor, I’m afraid,” Hunith sighs and props her elbow upon the tabletop. “How old are you turning?”

“Eight!” Arthur seems to have almost completely forgotten Gauis rubbing a salve onto the wounds and covering them as best he can with bandages. “My father says I can start training with a real sword instead of a wooden one!”

“Really?” Hunith’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t comment on her distrust of pointy objects around children. “It must be fun to celebrate your growth just when nature is changing its colors. The silk decorations against those golden-red leaves would be beautiful.”

Arthur shrugs, “We stay inside most of the time. The nobles like to eat and drink lots of mead.”

“I see. Well, my son will be seven in the springtime, so you two aren’t too far apart in age.”

“You have a son?” Arthur looks around the shop, but he doesn’t see any boy around his age. Gaius chuckles knowingly and puts his materials away while Arthur jumps down from the stool; the accident already is forgotten.

“Merlin?” Hunith rotates her body just enough so she could look out the window beside one of Gaius’s shelves. “You can come out.”

_Wouldn’t it be 'come in'?_

A stark black mop of hair slowly came into view just outside the window. Once fully risen, a smaller boy with a snow complexion, bright blue eyes, and raven tufts of hair framing his face was standing outside. Leaves and fuzzes of weeds littered his hair and clothes, and when he pushes the windowpane wide enough to fit through, the frayed coat and pants were visibly loose.  
The boy heaved himself through the window and plopped down on the floor, then stared right back at Arthur. Those eyes made Arthur freeze on the spot, and he found himself unable to look away, “Hello.”

Merlin looked at his mother, who nodded encouragingly before responding, “Hello…”

Arthur looked down at his feet and kicked at a wayward piece of straw that must’ve come from a commoner’s shoe, “Do you want to go see the horses in our stable?”

His eyes lit up, “Yes, please!”

~~

Just a couple of hours later, Merlin and Arthur are wandering around the castle. Merlin makes sure to move out of the knights’ way when they come across them, and Arthur thinks better than to mention it.  
They come across one of the halls with a multitude of instruments, and Merlin quickly runs to look at them before Arthur can claim his boredom with the room.

The younger boy runs his hand across the smooth, white wood of the bigger instrument with a stool placed in front, “It’s pretty.”

“I suppose,” Arthur lifts the fallboard and presses a few keys. “Do you know how to play anything?”

Merlin presses one of the keys and smiles when the note echoes across the room, “Some of the other villagers taught us how to play the lute and fiddle. But this is...different.”

“It’s called a harpsichord. How different is it from any other instrument?”

“Harpsichord.” Merlin hums. Despite being smaller, his fingers aren’t as chubby as Arthur's, nor are his cheeks, so maybe the elegant instrument makes more sense being touched by the prince rather than the poor boy. “Music is music, but I’ve never seen one until now.”

“What does a fiddle sound like?”

“It’s fast. Alba would play songs while her husband Alistair would sing about adventures, romance, and magical creatures.”

Arthur turned to Merlin, “Isn’t that against the rules?”

“What rules?” Merlin cocked his head to the side and faced Arthur. “No one ever said anything about music rules.”

“I mean the magic.”

“Oh. Well, the fiddle doesn’t have to follow any rules.”

“It doesn’t? What about the harpsichord?”

Merlin played a few random notes, and humoring Arthur, he closed his eyes and lifted his head to listen. When he opens his eyes and turns to the older, yet naive, boy, Arthur looks rather interested in Merlin’s game, “Nope. No rules for this instrument.”

“What instruments do follow rules then?”

“Magic rules?”

“Any rules. Magic, yes, but any others as well.”

“I don’t think anything that makes music or art follows anyone. They lead everything, don’t they? So it's people that follow the rules. Nothing else does.”

“Isn’t that unfair?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin shuts the fallboard, fearing getting in trouble for touching it. “I follow Mama’s rules because she loves me and wants me to be safe.”

Arthur seemed to think about that, “I guess Father’s rules are for my safety, then.”

Merlin hesitates and looks away from his new friend, “I need to go back. Mama will be looking for me.” He shuffles to the door and quickly walks down the hallway.

But Arthur is bigger and healthier than him, so he catches up with just a few paces and catches his friend on the shoulder, “Wait! Will you be at my birthday feast tonight?”

The dark-haired boy’s eyes widen and he seems to smile a bit, “I can ask.”

~~

Arthur can barely contain himself in his seat when he notices a familiar pair being guided by Gaius. He watches as Merlin looks around the Great Hall in wonder, feeling a bit proud of himself despite not being the one who built it.  
He turns to the King in the seat next to him, “Father, my new friend is here, can I go say hello?”

King Uther eyes where Arthur was pointing to. He seems to battle with himself, as his face morphs into a mix of unsure and disgust, but he waves his hand, “Very well, but only because there aren’t any other children your age.”

Arthur hops off his cushioned seat and bounds over to Merlin, “Guess what? The cook made apple tarts today and we can have as many as we want!”

Merlin only lets his eyes slide over the long tables covered end to end with roasted pig, duck, and lamb. Trays lined with massive loaves of bread, some slathered with butter and cheese. There were steaming meat and vegetable pies practically oozing with its creamy sauce. He even spotted baskets of grapes, apples, and pears at the table ends, to be served with the bitter wine being held by servants.   
With a gulp, he tightens his hold on his mother’s dress, “I’ve never seen so much food.”

Arthur furrows his brows, “What do you eat for your birthday?”

Gaius and Hunith exchange a look. The woman nods her head in acceptance and she pats Merlin on the shoulder, “He’s usually spoiled with some sweet rolls, or even a cake with strawberries on top if sugar isn’t too expensive that year.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t seem to completely understand. He looks again at Merlin, who was looking down at his feet. The blond takes him by the wrist, “Let’s go try some desserts!”

After a multitude of sweet treats, the boys came to the conclusion that anything with berries was sure to taste good, but you had to be wary of the ones with pear on top, as they tend to get sour easily.  
They currently sat on the kitchen floor, beneath the table where all the extra food was being kept. Only the cracked door to the hall allowed light in the dark room.

“Did you get any presents?” Merlin licked some blueberry glaze off his finger.

“The usual books, jewelry, a bow sized to fit me...Oh! My father got me a real sword!”

“Are you gonna be a knight?”

“Kind of,” Arthur got up and pretended to wield a sword at Merlin, jumping from foot to foot. “I’ll be better than a knight! I’m gonna be trained as one, but I’ll also be king one day.”

Merlin ignored Arthur trying to urge him to get up and play knight along with him, only running his finger along the plate and catching any stray sugar and crumbs, “Are you going to be like your father?”

Arthur lowered his imaginary sword and looked at the small boy in front of him. Merlin’s eyes were curious but didn’t hold any other emotion, “Probably. If I want to be a good king, yes.”

“Do you really think he’s a good king?”

“Obviously! Why wouldn’t I?”

Merlin set the plate next to him and frowned at Arthur, “Because he hurts people.”

“What? No, he doesn’t. Where did you hear that?”

“I’ve seen knights with red capes pulling cages filled with people. Some of them bleeding and crying. And a wagon is always behind them with dead bodies piled up. I once ran after it, because Miss Sybil was taken, and tripped over a body that fell out of the wagon.”

“You’re lying! Lots of kingdoms like the color red!”

Merlin stood up, “And how many have rules about which types of people should live and which shouldn’t?”

“Shut up!” Arthur pushes Merlin away from him. The younger boy falls to the floor with a thud and Arthur gasps. He feels his hands shake as he looks down on Merlin, who only glares up at him while taking deep breaths.  
When he hears air whooshing behind him, Arthur turns and sees the fire in the brick oven has been lit. The flames dance around as they expand to almost the roof of the oven, then back down to a small frame. Almost like lungs.  
The eight-year-old steps back and goes to face Merlin in amazement to ask why it was happening, but when he looks where the six-year-old boy was sitting, it’s empty. Arthur rushes out the kitchen door and back into the party. He ignores the hushed scoldings of the adults he pushes through as he looks for his friend.  
While swiveling his head around and around, he runs straight into a pair of legs. Looking up, he’s relieved it’s Gaius, “Do you know where Merlin went? We need to investigate the Oven Ghost, but I think he got scared of it.”

Gaius only leans forward and pats Arthur’s head, “Sorry, Sire, he and his mother had to leave.”

“Oh, do you know if he’ll be able to play tomorrow?”

“No,” Gaius shook his head. “Something came up, and they had to go home right away.”

Arthur steps back in disbelief, “To Ealdor?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Arthur feels his chest tighten and a familiar burn behind his eyes. He looks to the window closest to him, as if Merlin were going to pop up with more twigs and leaves in his wild, midnight hair, “But he didn’t say goodbye.”


	2. When You Can No More Hold Me By The Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a 2nd chapter, yikes. It's shorter than I wanted, but please enjoy!

_Remember me when I am gone away,  
Gone far away into the silent land;  
When you can no more hold me by the hand,  
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.  
Remember me when no more day by day  
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:  
Only remember me; you understand  
It will be late to counsel then or pray.  
Yet if you should forget me for a while  
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:  
For if the darkness and corruption leave  
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,  
Better by far you should forget and smile  
Than that you should remember and be sad._  
\- 'Remember' by Chritina Rosetti

By the time he was ten, Arthur started to join hunts. He learned to shoot arrows, track prey, and ride even the strongest horses. His studies still bored him to sleep most of the time, but with the King in his ear and over his shoulder all the time, Arthur can pinch himself awake.

With a yawn, Arthur massages a sore shoulder and nods at passing knights. He could walk to the physician’s chambers with his eyes closed at this point. When Arthur rounded the corner and was just outside the door, he heard a faint voice.

“ _As lances draw upon the enemy,  
A sea of waving banners surround,  
The Moors fall from the hillside,  
Like rain in the dark forest,  
As the battle rolls on,  
The men fall to the ground,  
Their ears ache for the shrill of the horn…_”

The rest is either mumbled or hummed. It’s a song he hears maids sing as they do the laundry, or knights trying to lighten a long watch. He only vaguely remembers the words but never had the patience to sit down and learn them since it was so long.  
Arthur pushes his way through, “Gaius, I’m here for that disgusting pain medicine-”

A skinny boy with tangled black hair looks up at him, he looks to be in the middle of tying bundles of bright red roots together with brown string. He clears his throat, “Gaius isn’t here.”

“I...you look like-What’s your name?”

The boy tilts his head, “Why do you want to know my name?”

Arthur scoffs, “I’m not going to make fun of it or anything.”

“That’s not why I’m asking.”

Arthur studies his twig-like frame, with a brown tunic falling off his shoulder, and sleeves pushed up to his elbows but obviously too long based on how much it billows out. If he is who Arthur thinks he is, he’s not looking much better from the last time they saw each other.  
The blond boy shrugs, “Because I want to know.”

The pale boy reaches a hand up and pushes his much too shaggy hair away from his face, “I’m merlin.” A dark bruise on his forehead is revealed for a fraction of a second, but Arthur is too busy feeling his belly flip around to comment.

“I knew it!” Arthur steps towards him. “You remember me, right?”

Merlin gives him a funny look, “The last time I was in Camelot, I was six. I don’t remember much.”

“I’m Arthur! The Prince!”

A look of shock passes over Merlin’s face, then fear, “Oh. Yes, I-I remember. I remember you.”

“Are you not happy to see me?” Arthur’s shoulders sag as he’s filled with a sadness he didn’t expect. He only knew Merlin for a day, why should either of them miss each other?

After a breath, Merlin looks at Arthur with a longing akin to when he begs the kitchen maids for extra dessert, “I am happy, Sire. Just...surprised.”

“Why are you surprised?”

“I didn’t think you’d remember me. We only knew each other for a day.”

Arthur looked down and scuffed his shoe on the stone floor, “I know it was short, but I do remember you. So, there.”

“Sire is there-”

“Arthur.”

“I-huh?” Merlin splutters.

“Call me Arthur, I hate the word ‘sire’,” Arthur mutters shyly, before looking back up at Merlin. “Idiot.”

A startled look passes Merlin’s face for just a moment before morphing into mischief, “Prat.”

“Prat?” Arthur had given him permission to use his name, not insult him.

Merlin set aside the dusty, red roots and stood up, “Royal prat.” He bowed dramatically.

Arthur huffed but didn’t really mind the word after all, “What are those roots for?”

Merlin looked to them and shrugged, “Digestion, I think.”

“Gross.”

“What? Noblemen don’t need to shit?”

Arthur tries to hide his surprise at seeing such a little boy curse like some of the knights when they drink too much, “You’re allowed to say that?”

“Say what?”

Arthur looks around before leaning in to whisper, “Shit.”

Merlin laughed and Arthur watched his cheeks form little pockets, “If you ever visit Ealdor, you’d hear a lot worse. And not just from me.”

“Oh,” Arthur considered their positions for a moment. He does hear more of those words from those not of noble blood, but he also knows Lord Herron tends to curse in every other sentence.  
He looks down at Merlin’s hands and spots his hands are covered in red powder from the roots, “That’s going to stain your clothes.”

Merlin lifts his hands, palms up, “That’s kind of the point.”

“You want to stain your clothes?”

“No me, but lots of people can use this powder for dye. Or makeup.”

“Makeup?”

Merlin flashes a smile before pushing his hands onto Arthur’s face. They rub at his cheeks as Arthur jumps away and grabs Merlin’s wrists.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You look very handsome.”

Arthur’s gut flutters, and he looks at Merlin exasperatedly, “I’m too young for makeup.”

Merlin ignores him and scrubs at his own cheeks. When he grins up at Arthur, his cheeks are the same bright color as the roots, “It is quite ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Well, you certainly wouldn’t need any white powder. You already look like a ghost.”

“And you’re even chubbier than when I last saw you.”

“I am not!”

“Yes, you are.”

“Or, maybe, you just got skinnier!”

Merlin sighs and walks around him to get to the door, “That might be true.”

“Where are you going?”

Merlin smiles, “I found a river a couple of miles from here a few days ago. Wanna see it?”

Arthur swallows the rage at the idea of Merlin being here before Arthur even knew it, “Okay.”

~~

They were sitting at the river’s edge with their pants rolled up to their thighs, and legs hanging over. The cold water hugged up to the boys’ knees, and they had both gasped when they first put their feet in. They had washed the red root off their faces, and when Merlin admitted to not knowing if it was ever meant for makeup, they scrubbed until their cheeks were pink.  
Arthur had noticed Merlin seemed to always be lost in thought. But when he was able to get the small boy’s attention, it was all giggles and grins that left the prince unbelievably happy.

Something tugged at his memory and Arthur cleared his throat while looking out at the deep green forest, “Do you still hate my father?”

Merlin tenses and watches his feet sway in the water, “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I couldn’t get you to stop talking last time.”

“My mouth gets me in trouble a lot.”

Arthur sighs and leans back on his arms so he’s stretched out to the sky, “You won’t get in trouble with me. I promise.”

There are a few moments of silence. Only the river and breeze through the tree branches could be heard. Merlin stayed sitting, head downward, and hunched over. He suddenly seemed much older. Was he nine now that it was summer?  
Merlin’s small voice made its way to Arthur's ears, “I can’t.”

“But why?”

“ _Please_ , Arthur. Let’s talk about something else.”

Arthur guessed that Merlin was just a sensitive boy, and the Purge and magic hunts were scary to him. He couldn’t blame him. Sometimes they scared Arthur, and he was supposed to be a brave knight. But Merlin should know by now that Arthur could protect him from any sorcerer, right? They were friends, after all.

“I’ve been practicing the harpsichord more.”

Merlin seemed to relax once the subject was changed, “And are you as useless with that as you are with a sword?”

“I’m going to be the best knight in this Kingdom!”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

~~

“Yesterday was their last day here, Sire. It’s why I was out with Hunith all day, getting supplies for their trip. They do have to walk after all. Well, unless a kind traveler offers a ride, but a young mother and little boy must be wary-”

“Gaius, you said they knew yesterday was the last day they’d be here. Does that mean he just didn’t tell me?”

The old physician looked at Arthur with knowing eyes, “Merlin...cares for you. He probably wanted to spare your feelings.”

“Bullshit!”

“ _Sire!_ ”

Arthur flinched, “Sorry. It’s just-he-and I had planned. He was supposed to come to watch me train today, and I was gonna show him my favorite hiding places in the castle.”

“I understand, sire, but that family has many other things to deal with. I think you being a friend to Merlin helps him forget about those troubles. Even for a day.”

Arthur lets that sink in. They’ve only spent two days together in total, but Merlin feels as much part of him as his right hand is. “Will he come back?”

Gaius keeps a stoic look on his face, “I think there is a great possibility that he will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep having to reel myself in from making them too adult-like, but they're not typical kids anyway. Plus when I was nine or ten, I wasn't some dumb kid, so I decided they would be capable of complex emotions and ideas.


	3. Precious Friends Hid In Death's Dateless Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know it's been a bit since the last chapter, but what's new? lol  
> I'm just finishing up the semester with school and since I work retail, holidays are pretty chaotic. Anyway, please enjoy the new chapter!

**_When to the sessions of sweet silent thought  
I summon up remembrance of things past,  
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,  
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:  
Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,  
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,  
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,  
And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight;  
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,  
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er  
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,  
Which I new pay as if not paid before.  
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,  
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end._**  
\- _'Sonnet 30', William Shakespeare_

When the Prince was fourteen, he had lost his baby fat and replaced it with hard muscle. He wondered how much Merlin had grown, and if the kid finally gained some weight, but the more he paid attention to his studies, the more he realized skinny children from poor farming villages are lucky to be alive at all.  
A part of him had a theory that Hunith was able to keep her son from starving because she can turn her love into physical nutrition, but that mostly just makes him sad. Merlin’s mother was kind and caring, and she’s everything his father lacks. She’s everything he craves on his loneliest days. She and Merlin.

So, when he spots a lanky form with raven-black hair turning the corner towards Gaius’s chambers, Arthur breaks into a sprint.  
“Merlin!” Arthur shouts, only risking embarrassment if it turns out to be a random serving boy.

To his luck, the boy turns and widens his sky blue eyes at the prince just as he loses his footing and barrels into the smaller boy, “A-Arthur! What the hell!”

Arthur rolls off Merlin and catches his breath, “You bastard. You never tell me when you’re in town.”

Merlin has half the mind to look guilty, “Well, I’ll be here until the end of summer since my mother has been taking up more tailoring jobs and they don’t need my help with the crops.”

Arthur silently rejoices to be able to spend more time with the boy who makes him feel ordinary. He looks Merlin over and notes his cheekbones and Adam's apple are more pronounced. His hair is cut much too short and shows off those out-turned ears. Most notably, his form seems fuller. Merlin is still skinny, definitely, but perhaps meals are sticking to his bones more recently, “You gained weight.”

“And you lost some,” Merlin snickered but got serious when Arthur gave him a look. He looks around and realizes they are both sprawled on the stone floor. He gets up and offers a hand to Arthur, “I should hope I gained weight; Gaius has been shoving thick stew down my throat three times a day for the past couple of months.”

Arthur freezes, “You’ve been here for multiple months, and not come to see me?”

The younger boy bites his lip and looks to the ground, “I wanted to see you.”

“Then why didn’t you?!” Arthur scoffs and turns away. He stomps away from Merlin and hears a sigh before lighter steps follow him. “You say you like being around me and act like my friend, but every time you come to Camelot, it’s always an accident that I find you. I can’t help but come to the conclusion that you avoid me.”

They ended up down a path that led to the castle garden. It was small, but it was a beautiful piece of Arthur’s mother that managed to live on.  
When the boys came across a stone bench, Merlin calmly sat while Arthur paced in front of him, “You know Merlin, you can tell me if you don’t wish to see me. I understand the only reason we even met was that your mother told you to go along with me.”

Merlin sighs once again and lets some anger drip into his voice, “You truly are an idiot, Arthur.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you were a commoner like me, or even a lord, then I would come running to you the _moment_ I came to Camelot. I would bother and annoy you every moment I got. But you are not either of those things, Arthur. You are a prince. The Prince of Camelot, no less! Forgive me for preparing for the inevitable tip of your sword the moment you realize how improper our friendship is.”

Arthur stops pacing and turns to Merlin, “Inevitable? Merlin, I- _Please_ , you have to know that I could never do that to you.”

Merlin only held his gaze for a few moments before looking to the ground, “I believe that you truly think that, but...I don’t think I could take any more disappointment from those I call friends.”

“Okay, okay,” Arthur desperately pulled at his hair. “I promise I’ll let you know if I ever start to feel like our class difference bothers me. Okay, Merlin? I promise. But please don’t push me away anymore.”

The dark-haired boy kicks at a rock by his feet before silently grasping Arthur’s wrist, “Sit down, Arthur.” He pulls lightly.

The blonde complies and sits close enough to brush their shoulders. He feels Merlin’s hand still wrapped around his wrist and holds very still to keep from scaring his companion away. While looking straight ahead at the rose bushes blooming just a few feet away, a weight settles on his shoulder. The dark hair wafts the earthy smell of forest and honey and rosemary, from Gaius’s potions or cooking, he’s not sure, but the smell fits Merlin like a second skin.

“Let’s just stay here for a bit,” Merlin whispers.

Arthur doesn’t say anything, but he leans his head against Merlin’s. They stay still while the breeze moves every branch and leaf in the garden, and Arthur finds himself matching his breathing to the sway.

~~

The next day, Arthur gleefully walks to the Physician’s rooms, excited to finally have a full day with Merlin. 

Only, he’s met with a teary Gaius who sniffs and clears his throat before addressing the prince, “Sire, what can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Merlin,” He says slowly, still processing the older man’s tears.

Gaius’s face contorts when Merlin’s name is spoken, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

Fear and anger courses through Arthur’s body, “Why?”

“There was--Yesterday, he--He won’t be coming back.”

“ _Why?_ ” Arthur pushed.

Gaius regarded Arthur with a pained, yet contemplating look, “There was an incident, and Merlin might as well be dead.”

It felt as if the floor was wobbling under Arthur’s feet. Right when he’s promised more time, Merlin is taken away from him? He seemed fine yesterday, how would he have gotten sick that fast?

“That can’t be,” Arthur mumbled out. “No. We were talking yesterday, I promised...I thought I could be with him more, I--No! He gained weight! He was healthy!”

“It’s not always just a matter of health, Sire.”

“What do you mean? He was _healthy_. He gained weight,” Arthur broke down into sobs when Gaius took him in his arms. Despite how tight Gaius was holding him, Arthur kept his arms locked to his sides with his fists clenched. “He gained weight. He smelled good...We...We…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's pretty short, but the next few chapters are where the meat of the story starts to come in. Let me know if you have any questions, and feel free to request anything for future fics! Love you


	4. Lingering Care Subdues, Long-Vanished Happiness Refines, And Clothes In Brighter Hues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! How were your guy's holidays?
> 
> (Good)- Oh, that's relieving! Me too, it's always nice to eat warm meals and open presents. Although I've decided to not make any resolutions for 2021 because I figured going in with no expectations leaves no room for disappointment.
> 
> (Bad)- I'm sorry to hear that, but hopefully, you're feeling better now, or at least starting to. I'm always willing to lend an ear and shoulder.

**_With heart as calm as lakes that sleep,  
In frosty moonlight glistening;  
Or mountain rivers, where they creep  
Along a channel smooth and deep,  
To their own far-off murmurs listening.  
\- 'Memory', William Wordsworth_ **

With only a week until his seventeenth birthday, Arthur dreaded the feast more and more each day. He avoided his father with constant lectures about being an honorable prince or being a worthy king. He avoided Morgana because she teased him for his failed wooing of visiting ladies and princesses, and told him he’d be better at flirting if he wasn’t constantly practicing with the knights.

_“Do you really wish for me to marry that badly?” He had asked her._

_Morgana rolled her eyes, “No, if I’m quite honest. I just enjoy laughing at pathetic men, and this kingdom is full of them.”_

_“Watch it! You’re lucky you have your beauty and status to attract a husband.”_

_“I don’t want one.”_

_Arthur only shook his head and walked away._

If he was honest, he didn’t want to marry either. Some of the women had been nice, most were boring, but none of them felt right to Arthur.

Nowhere in the castle could Arthur go without being bothered. Be it a Noble with an unremarkable opinion, a servant with a question he couldn’t care less about (“Yes, pansies are fine. What? Liquor Jam? Leucojum. Uh, sure, those too.”), or even his father to remind him about some speech or another.

Until he found that his father decided to build another wing to the dungeon. He wasn’t sure when it had been done, but after interrogating a prisoner, he found a door he had never been through before.

“Sir Kay, what is this door to?” He asked over his shoulder.

He hears the knight clear his throat, “I wouldn’t worry about that, sire. It’s keeping a dangerous criminal and the King wishes no one but him to enter.”

He peers through the bars into the dark wing and sees a whole wall lined with cages, but the darkness makes it difficult to make out where the criminal is, “What’s he charged with?”

“Sorcery.”

The word causes the prince to snag his hands away from the door. He attempts to act as though he hadn’t just been frightened, “Is that so?”

“Yes, and your father has forbidden anyone from entering. Only a select few guards can even give the creature food and water.”

Arthur once again peers into the darkness. Nothing. He closes his eyes and tries to listen to any scuffle of feet or chains. Nothing. He feigns a hum in disinterest and faces the older knight, “Well, better get cleaned up. Tonight is a dreaded family dinner.”

The knight escorts Arthur out of the dungeons, and the prince manages to keep his mind clear enough throughout the entire evening to maintain a conversation. He knows he’s done a good job of being a perfect prince when Morgana has a bored look on her face.  
He takes small bites of the roasted pheasant and sips the watered wine. He doesn’t want to seem to be in a rush.

“So, Arthur,” King Uther finishes his goblet and nods to a serving boy to fill it. “How are things going for your feast? I hope planning isn’t overwhelming?”

“No, not at all, Father. I trust the servants to come to me for any issues, and know they’ll have it all according to plan.”

“I noticed the guest list is short.”

“I had hoped I could keep it quaint. The fewer people there are, the more time I get to spend with them.”

“Your time during the feast is to be divided among those who will serve in your court during your reign, Arthur. This is the time to start finding ones you trust or weeding out the weak.”

Arthur grits his teeth, but answers clearly, “Very well. I will go through the list and invite more people.”

“Yes, and we should hope to send our fastest carriers. We can only hope they’ll make it within a week.”

Sometimes his father didn’t need to raise his voice in order to yell.

“If you excuse me early, I can draft the invitations by tonight.”

Uther wore a heavy glare that pulled his whole face down, “You are excused.”

~

With a dark cloak on, he snuck around the castle with stealth he didn’t know he was capable of. A stack of invitations with the ink still drying were left on his desk, and if he were more mindful, he might’ve cared more about the smears and misspellings. But he was still a prince, after all, not a king.  
It bothered him that his father didn’t trust him to be around a criminal. He’s had him being trained in interrogation, after all. For the past year, he’s perfected methods for breaking ribs, waterboarding, and even pulling out fingernails. What’s an imprisoned sorcerer going to do?

The night guards are always sleeping, no matter who they put on post. It’s the key-snatching that’ll be difficult.  
He gulps and reaches over the guard’s head. He grabs the hoop with one hand, and the keys in another. The jingle for a moment until locked into his tight grip. He waits a few moments before moving again. The door remains just as dark and forbidding as earlier in the day. The wood is covered in scraps of metal, almost haphazardly nailed into the door.

_Must’ve been a rush job._

The process of finding the right key is slow and takes a few minutes to avoid making as much noise as possible. He finally hears the lock click open and makes a mental note of the symbol engraved into the bow of the key. It’s not one he recognizes.

He winces when the door lets out a creak. He hears a snore. Arthur breathes a sigh of relief and slips through the doorway. He lets the door moan close, but worries less knowing the guard is a deep sleeper.

He turns slowly and looks around at the cells. It’s dark and smells of mildew, he hears a steady drip coming from some crack in the wall that is surely there. Arthur takes a deep breath and takes out his dagger. His footsteps echo and bounce off the stone walls, but he notices absolutely no movement within the room.

“Unless you’re already dead or deaf, I doubt you didn’t wake at the sound of the door. So, just let me know where you are.”

There’s no response and Arthur figures the younger knights might’ve convinced Kay to try and scare him, but he hears something scrape across the floor. Adrenaline rushes through him and Arthur reaches into his pocket for flint. He walks over to the closest wall and lights a torch.  
At first, he still can’t make out where the prisoner is, but his eyes land on a bunch of dark fabric huddled in a corner in the furthest cell. Only a pale, bony foot sticks out.  
Arthur’s eyes widen and he takes the torch off the wall. Once the prisoner realizes the light and steps are getting closer, the foot is dragged closer to the bundle. The same scraping noise is made and Arthur figures there to be a chain locked onto his leg.

He reaches the cell and pauses. He hadn’t thought this whole thing through and isn’t sure where to go from here. Had he meant to interrogate the sorcerer? Demand to know what he plans?  
Instead, Arthur licks his lips and knocks the dagger against the bars, “Hey.” Dead quiet. “I’m just here to...intimidate you. Make sure you know that you don’t stand a chance against Camelot.” The form only curls in tighter against himself.

Well, this was a bust. Arthur didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. “Good. I suppose that’s done with.” He turns to leave and only makes a few steps before something makes him freeze.

“Your voice is deep.”

Something tugs at Arthur’s brain when the cracking voice reaches his ears. It’s unfamiliar, but… “What was that?”

The prisoner takes another minute to answer in the same weak tone, “It’s deep. Your voice.”

“...Yes. I’m turning seventeen soon, after all.” He’s not sure why he’s making small talk with a sorcerer, but it’s all Arthur has been offered.

There’s a gasp before the broken, watery voice speaks again, “I see.”

Arthur frowns and walks up to the cell once again. He holds the torch closer, but the boy reaches his thin arms and tugs his hood tighter over his face. Arthur leans forward, “Are you sure you’re a sorcerer?”

A strangled laugh muffled by the dark fabric emerges, “Do you think I’d be here if I wasn’t?”

“There have been false accusations before.”

“I was caught in the act long ago, Prince Arthur.”

“How do you know my name?”

“...Magic?”

Arthur scoffs, “I don’t have time for games, sorcerer.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Curiosity,” Arthur supplies. “I find it strange that my father has decided to keep one of your kind alive, and I wonder what you could possibly provide that is worth your life.”

A shiver wracks through the boy’s body, “So, is that blade for me?”

“Only if you attack me,” He grips the dagger tighter.

“I’m afraid I don’t think I have the power. Even if I wanted to.”

“So you’re weak?”

“Because of the iron.”

Arthur looks around the cell and realizes it is the magic-blocking metal. “So that means…”

The spider-like hands slip out of the raggedy cloak to show the iron cuffs tight on the snow-white wrists of the boy. He notices a slight red tinge peeking from underneath the metal. Arthur bites his lip before slipping the dagger back into his belt.

“Then what use are you?”

“What does it matter?”

“You must be doing something if you’re still alive.”

“He wants me to reveal all the magic-users I know, and I refuse.”

“That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?”

“Because the king doesn’t care if you say names or not, as long as he has a sorcerer burnt to a crisp at the end of the day. Now tell me, what use are you?”

“Who cares?”

“I do. Do you want to burn the kingdom down?”

“Sometimes, but I would be killing a few innocents, then.”

“Very funny. Do you want to kill my father?”

“Every day. Are we done?”

“Not even close. Do you want to kill me?”

The hands shake before moving inside the cloak close to where the prisoner’s face is, almost as if he’s covering his ears, “ _No_ , okay? I don’t want to kill anyone, believe it or not.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Well, good for you, then! Leave.”

“This is my dungeon, you can’t tell me what to do!”

The sorcerer tugs the hood and moves so he puts his back to Arthur, “I’ll scream. I haven’t screamed in years and it sounds so good right now. Leave and I stay quiet.”

“You-Ugh!” Arthur stomps away, shoving the torch back into its holder. He pulls keys off the hook where he left them and locks the door behind him. When hearing a snort, he pauses and holds his breath. He stares into the room as he waits for the guard's snores to level out. The dark figure hasn’t moved and almost looks caved in.  
Once the snores are back to normal, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. The prince begins his trek back to his room, going over the conversation with the sorcerer multiple times.

It almost seemed as if the sorcerer wanted to spare Arthur from whatever his father was doing. Or maybe he just enjoyed enraging Arthur.

Either way, Arthur was not happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hope you enjoyed it! And let me know if there are any questions or requests.  
> If you are interested, I made a playlist for this fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4ei3HNlrGDcssvVUkmjbfG  
> Or just type in "Love Shall Slumber On" in the search. It should be public, but let me know if there are any problems.


	5. My Spirit Flew In Feathers Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome one and all to another chapter! I'm currently dog-sitting and hoping the crap wifi holds up enough to get this chapter out. Fingers crossed!

_**I remember, I remember,  
The house where I was born,  
The little window where the sun  
Came peeping in at morn;  
He never came a wink too soon,  
Nor brought too long a day,  
But now, I often wish the night  
Had borne my breath away!**_ **  
\- 'I Remember, I Remember', Thomas Hood**

After tossing and turning for most of the night, Arthur only managed a couple of hours of sleep before there was knocking at the door.

“Yes?” He yawned.

“The King has requested you send the invitations with me before you start training, Sire.”

“I’ll be right out,” The prince rolls his eyes and begins to get dressed.

_“Is that real gold?” The young, dark-haired boy turned his sky-blue eyes from the vase to Arthur._

_The blonde only shrugged, “I think so. I don’t have much interest in decoration.”_

_“I do,” Merlin looked at the vase again and squinted. “It has a crack.”_

_“Ceramic cracks easily. The maids told me so when I almost knocked one over.”_

_“I like the colors.”_

_It was a nice vase. It depicted two birds flying through the air with gold painted feathers and eyes. The crack was on the second bird, closest to the bottom, through one of its wings._

_“Hm. Well, colors aren’t as exciting as swords or food, or even a ride on a horse.”_

_Merlin begins to walk away, and Arthur follows him down the hall. He tries not to be impatient as the small boy stares up at all the paintings.  
He stops in front of a painting of the sunset over a field. The grass and trees are so green they look like they’ll sprout flowers at any moment. And the sky is a deep orange that melts to purple, as if the stars couldn’t wait for the sun to dip below the horizon before coming out. If placed right, this painting could act as a window for those who yearn for a view._

_Merlin smiles at the painting and nudges Arthur on the arm, “Are you sure about those colors?”_

Arthur clears his throat and grabs the papers on his desk, he walks to the door and silently gives them to the messenger before shutting the door and leaning his forehead against it. 

Why am I thinking about him now?

It’s been...a long time since Arthur has thought about his past friend. It’s been a little over two years and while some days he thinks about the boy constantly, others he barely crosses his mind at all. As time passes, it’s more often the latter. They only met three times, so there are not many memories to look back upon. But damn, does it still hurt.

~

“The flowers we agreed upon have been found growing splendidly, just as Farmer Odo promised.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“And the cooks are all making sure enough food will get to the kitchen the night before, so they may start dishes early if need be, Sire.”

“Wonderful.”

“I went ahead and requested the more popular songs and sonnets to be performed, but were there any in particular you wished to hear--Prince Arthur?”

The head servant, Randall, paused when he realized the prince was no longer beside him. Instead, the young prince was standing in front of a painting.

“Is there something wrong, Sire?”

“Sorry, just thinking,” Arthur walked a few steps past the painting and set his eyes on something further down the hall.  
Randall was confused but obediently followed. The prince eyed a vase before hesitantly bending forward to study something. A confused look crossed his face, “Was this fixed at some point?”

“Your Majesty?”

“Or, was it replaced with a replica?”

“The King refuses any artwork in the castle to be replicated.”

Arthur brushed a finger over the bird’s wing, “But it had a crack. When I was younger, I--I remember a crack. Right here.”

Randall nervously thought back to all his lessons on the art in the castle, “Not that I am aware of or remember, Sire. I can find out later today, if you wish.”

“No,” Arthur got a hold of himself and straightened up. “No need. You are dismissed for today, Randall. I’m sure the feast will be perfectly adequate.”

Randall silently bowed before walking away.  
Arthur looked at the vase for a few more moments (minutes) before deciding to go to the training grounds.

~

He once again found himself in the secret dungeon. He snuck past the guard and lit a torch to see better in the dark room. This time, instead of standing, he placed the torch on a dry spot on the ground next to him and sat in front of the cell.

“I’m back,” Arthur wants to smack himself for being obvious.

At first, he thinks the sorcerer might actually be asleep, or maybe even dead, but the cloak shifts with a sigh, “Why?”

“Because…” Arthur struggles for a reason. “You haven’t actually told me why my father keeps you alive.”

“That seems like a conversation between you two.”

“But if you’re involved, you can tell me, too.”

There’s a bitter chuckle, “Too bad I’m just as secretive as him, then.”

Arthur heaves a frustrated sigh, “I don’t understand you. Aren’t you suffering? Don’t you wish revenge on the one who locked you in here?”

“You’ll help me? Is that it? How surprising! I never would’ve expected the Prince of Camelot to offer me the key to escape and his father’s head on a silver platter!” The sorcerer brought his knees up to his chest, tugged on his hood, and wrapped his arms around the sick-like legs. “I may be desperate, but I’m not gullible. And you? You’re just cruel.”

“What? I’m not--Look, I don’t promise anything to you. I only wish to understand,” Arthur watches the sorcerer for a few breaths before he turns and rests his back on the bars, his head creating a soft thump. “I’ll admit you don’t seem to be...evil. Does he make you do bad things? Hurt your people?”. His question is only met with more silence.

He hears the raggedy fabric of the hood shift, and it takes effort to not turn and glance at the sorcerer’s face, “Will you at least tell me your name?”

“You can call me Emrys.”

Arthur hums in understanding, letting the name roll around in his head. _Emrys_. He’s thinking of visiting the library in the morning to find the records of persecuted sorcerers when he feels something run through his hair. In a panic, Arthur sits upright and grasps his head, feeling for a welt, blood, or even a bald spot. He feels nothing and turns to face the sorcerer, “What did you just do?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry,” The sorcerer’s head dropped so the prince could not see his face. Only matted black hair greets him.

“You-” Anger takes over Arthur and he reaches through the bars and grabs the boy's loose clothing so he drags him up to meet the prince’s infuriated gaze, “I swear if I’m hexed or something of the sort-”

Fearful blue eyes stare at him through a curtain of dark hair, “I didn’t, I promise.”

The boy’s hands are raised in surrender, but when realizing the prince is frozen, he slowly moves his hands to hold Arthur’s wrists that were fisted into his already tattered clothes, “I touched your hair. Nothing else.”

Arthur snapped out of it and let go of Emrys, “Don’t touch me again.”

“Yes...Sire.”

Arthur leaned back and tapped his fingers on the cold, stone floor while studying Emrys’s face, “Why’d you do it?”

“Have you ever craved another human’s touch before?” At Arthur’s glare, he twisted a strand of his hair at his temple, “I keep your crops healthy, strengthen your weapons, and if I want to keep my life, I weaken your enemies.”

Arthur tries to hide his shock, “But my father hates sorcery, why would he want the help of magic?”

“There isn’t a single person on Earth who isn’t a hypocrite. Your father preaches about peace and honor while his hands are soaked in the blood of innocents and children. You say you hate magic and trust your father to guide you, but you are here, in secret. I swore to protect nature, but hate it for what it made me.”

“‘What nature made you’?”

“There are some out there, who are born with magic. I was one of them. My mother taught me from a very young age to hide it, but that didn’t stop me from getting into trouble, as you can see.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone being born with magic.”

“You may be a good man, with a kind heart underneath that boorish exterior, but that doesn’t make you smart.”

Arthur scoffed, “And what do you know of me?”

“Not much,” Emrys speaks quietly.

“You say you do all these things for the kingdom, but how?”

Emrys fiddles with his cuffs before flattening his hands to the ground, “About once a month, the iron is taken off. It’s hard to see through the stone and takes me a few minutes to gather my magic, but I can sense energy...It’s like, when you close your eyes and see flecks of color, sometimes sparks. Nature and people naturally give it off, and I either strengthen it, or smother it.”

“And the weapons?”

“Just a simple spell for those. Make ‘em last longer and such.”

“How are you able to sense energy if you have those cuffs on most of the time? It’s not like you can take them off once a month and catch every enemy. They would all have to be traveling that same day.”

“As I said, it’s rare I have to do that. Whenever patrolling knights come back with news of bandits, I’m freed of the iron and I take care of them. Well, some of them. Most times the knights don’t need help and handle it on their own.”

Arthur thought back to the times he encountered dangerous criminals on the road. They were usually in small groups that proved just incapable enough against Camelot Knights, but he wondered how many of the ones they needed to run from end up suffering at the hands of Emrys.   
He doesn’t know what to say, but he keeps looking at Emrys. The scraggly hair and gemstone eyes are so reminiscent of his old friend, Arthur simply stared.

“When I was younger,” Emrys glanced up at the prince for only a moment before turning his head away. “I saw plenty of animals give birth. Once even helped my mother with a human baby. I only kept the water warm, and made sure the blankets were clean and dry, but I thought I was lucky, considering most women prefer their husbands to stay outside. Something about not wanting to kiss them again after they see what happens at the birth.  
“I loved going to those. No matter what animal, or time of day. I’d close my eyes when all was said and done, and see explosions of sparks. Like when the fire crackles and blazes of embers fly up. Only brighter, and more of them. A pig...her name was Alfreda, gave birth to twelve piglets. I thought I would go blind.”

Arthur could hear the smile on Emrys’s face, and when he leaned to the side, he could also catch a glimpse of the upturned mouth, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you think I’m a monstrous creature. And maybe that’s true, but you should also know that the energy I see is magic itself. A pig can’t conjure fresh slop for itself, of course, and most people aren’t able to use their magic for bigger things than what you would call luck. They catch themselves from falling and laugh it off, or have a knack for painting, or maybe they’re exceedingly witty and able to fill a room with smiles. _That’s magic_. It’s in everything. The wind when it gives you goosebumps, grass calling to have your fingers brush over the blades, mud hugging the soles of your shoes.”

“Even I have magic?”

Emrys turns his face to Arthur, but doesn’t look him in the eye, “Even you.”

~~

Arthur could hardly sleep that night. He kept closing his eyes and focusing on the muted colors behind his eyelids. Perhaps they are more like bursts to Emrys, but to Arthur, it seemed more like dust floating across a window getting caught by the light.

_I’m just not as in tune with it, I suppose._

He shakes his head. Why was he attempting to see the magic anyway? He had grown up being taught of its vile nature, but the skinny prisoner seemed to make it so easy to view it differently. Just like that.

He turned in the bed with a frustrated sigh and thought of Merlin. When he last saw him, his hair was too short for his face, and those stupid ears stuck out to the side. Emrys had oily hair that hung in front of his face, and the eyes, while a light shade of blue, were dull.

And Merlin is dead.

People can look alike. It’s fairly common. Black hair and blue eyes? Yes, more common than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're a returning reader, thanks for being patient with me. If you've binged this due to just finding it, I hope you stay around. I'm working on getting the chapters to be longer, but I just kind of stop when it feels like a natural chapter closing. Maybe I need to include more descriptors for each of the senses? idk, that usually is my favorite type of writing, but for some reason, I'm more dialogue-oriented for this one.


	6. I Weep Like A Child For The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I hope you guys are doing well and enjoying your lives as well as you can right now. If you're in school, I hope it isn't too stressful at the moment. If you're working, good luck with work I hope you have easy shifts. If you're just chilling at home, remember to take up hobbies to keep your brain active, even if it's just reading a book or painting your nails. I've personally been trying my hand at embroidery (it's not going good but I'm still a beginner)

_**"Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;  
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see  
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings  
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings."** _ **  
\- 'Piano', D.H Lawrence**

_Merlin was humming to himself as he scoured the forest floor for roots, flowers, and leaves Gaius was running low on. He came across a bluebell field and made sure to grab a couple of bundles, and now was working on...Oh, he always forgets the name._

_‘They’re small leaves that you’ll find everywhere, Merlin! Just grab the healthiest you can find! No, not mint...here. You remember this book I read to you once? The drawings of swamps had lily pads floating in the water. They are the same shape as those, except they grow on trees.’_

_So, leaves were not his specialty. However, the prettier plants stuck to his brain like honey to bread._

_A whine sounding just ahead of him had Merlin faltering and silent. He listened and heard another desperate whine. His feet were moving before he even registered it and noticed a thick pair of antlers laying in the walking path. Merlin gasped when he moved a low branch and found a giant stag panting with his eyes darting around._

_He crouched and hushed the stag when it let out another low moan, “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”  
Without thinking, he grasped the wood-like antlers and lifted the head onto his lap. With gentle caresses to his wiry-fur neck, he spotted the wound on the stag’s lower belly. Blinking away the dizziness threatening Merlin’s mind, he focused on the bright red covering the animal’s dark brown fur. Light pink was sticking out of the wound like a tongue and Merlin’s stomach churned when he recognized it to be intestines._

_“I’d never be half as strong as you, I’ll tell you that,” He placed the stag’s head back onto the ground and scooched around so he was sitting directly in front of the wound. “I’d be howling like a wolf with an injury like that.”_

_He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Golden tendrils of magic encircled the stag, and little sparks covered the lower belly, obviously trying its best to heal the creature. But it’s not enough._

_Merlin opens his eyes and maneuvers his satchel so it stays behind his back as he leans forward. With a gulp and quiet, ‘I can do this’, he grasps the piece of intestine peeking out and pushes it back into the gash. He whispers apologies when the animal jerks and yelps. Once his hand is successfully inside, he keeps his breathing even and focuses on strengthening the golden energy tingling at his skin.  
Once he’s sure it’s strong enough, he slowly moves his hand out. He ignores the sticky wetness clinging to his skin, and how there’s no stream close by to wash it in. Only his fingertips remain inside the wound and he sees the edges rapidly closing in. A faint golden glow surrounds the stag’s belly.  
His hand pulls fully away, and Merlin watches the skin patch itself together with little twinkles of light, only leaving a thin bald spot._

_With a nudge, the stag slowly gets to his feet and connects his eyes with Merlin’s. Those deep brown irises seem to understand who helped him, and with a flick of his ears, the stag turns and bounds away._

_The young boy gives a content sigh and gets to his feet. He’s brushing his trousers of dirt with his clean hand when he hears a twig snap. When he looks up, a middle-aged man is staring with wide eyes. He’s holding a horse's reins in one hand, and a bow in the other.  
His pulse quickens when he notices the bloody arrow within the grasp of the hand with the leather reins._

_“Magic.”_

_“Please,” Merlin held up his hands, cringing at the fact that one of them was soaked with blood. “I won’t hurt you--just--you have to understand-”_

_“I understand that that stag should be dead. And it got up and walked away from a fatal wound after you touched it.”_

_Merlin felt his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his legs were vibrating with the need to get away, but he kept his hands up and looked the man in the eyes. Words were lost on him. Yes, he had healed that stag with magic. Yes, it should have been dead. Yes, this man witnessed at least the last part of the healing. Glow and all._

_The man slowly moved the arrow so it sat against the bow, and he lifted it to aim at Merlin. The string was pulled taut and the crying sound it made swelled in Merlin’s ears._

_Something in him clicked, and he turned with a push of magic, he heard the man fall to the ground with a grunt, but Merlin broke into a run before he could ever find out if the man was hurt enough to not follow._

_When the satchel snagged on one too many branches, he flung it over his head and ran faster. The castle was within sight soon enough, and Merlin could only hope to find Gaius._

_He’d know what to do._

_Merlin slows down and begins to wipe the blood on the inside of his jacket. He needs to seem completely normal once on the castle grounds. He stays calm despite his erratic heartbeat and the sound of his feet hitting the stone sounding much too loud in his ears. He just needs to get to Gaius. Maybe he’ll set up an excuse for him. Or maybe even send him home._

_Ealdor hasn’t been the friendliest place for him, and the tension between him and its residents makes it difficult to be there sometimes, but he’d take bullies and judgmental stares any day over a pyre._

_“Merlin!”_

_He was almost to the physician’s quarters when he saw the blond prince running towards him full-speed. He takes a timid step back._

_They wouldn’t send the prince to arrest me, right?_

_A body collides with him and they’re both falling to the floor, “A-Arthur! What the hell!”_

_Merlin knows that with some sharp words, he could get the prince to leave him be so he can find Gaius, but if that man only knows a description of him without his name, maybe he can get away with just a couple more hours before he has to go._

~~

The warlock shifted uncomfortably in his cell. The smell of must and wetness seemed to seep everything, and he brought his hand up to his scalp to scrape at the dirt coating it. He then worked on digging the dirt out from under his nails using thinner parts of his clothing. With no access to a bath, this was as good as it got.

His joints popped and ached as he got up, but he learned his lesson about not moving and exercising his limbs long ago. Nothing worse than reteaching yourself how to walk.

Merlin moved from wall to wall, imagining windows where the stone walls were. It was harder to picture the outside, especially as the years drew on. But if he really focused and kept himself level-headed, he could be back at home, in Ealdor.

_“Merlin, you know you need to be more careful!” Hunith held her son by the shoulders. She finally got the village leaders to calm down. While she realizes Merlin only meant to help, Ealdor was only just barely tolerant towards magic. They were threatened constantly, but this was the first time they had physically hurt her boy._

_The little boy only turned his head away and snuffled, “But she said she wanted her bread to be warm. I didn’t mean to cause the fire.”_

_“I know,” The mother cradled his face and pushed his hair back to look at the bleeding cut from when the girl’s father used his cane to get Merlin away from the girl. “I know, but people...lash out when they don’t understand something. It took me a long time to learn how to take care of you. I’m still learning.”_

_“You’re not mean, though.”_

_“No one is by nature. But depending on how they’re raised and what they’ve experienced, or not experienced, they learn the wrong lessons. Which is why I’ve raised you to be kind.” Hunith combed her fingers through her son’s hair. His big, blue eyes gazed at her and the sight made her heart clench. “And you need to know that while anger can be used to fuel your actions, hatred will get you nowhere.”_

_She didn’t expect him to completely understand, so she wrapped him in a hug, “It was an accident, Merlin. And you are a child. It isn’t right to lose patience, but even I make mistakes. So I need you to be kind.”_

_Merlin hugged her tighter, “I trust you, Mama.”_

_“Good, because I’ve been thinking of visiting your Great Uncle Gaius. Not only can he help you to control your magic a bit, but our absence will help ease the stress of our neighbors.”_

_Merlin stayed quiet, but he buried his nose into his mother’s shoulder, because she smelled like sage and grass, and a hint of fresh bread. He didn’t mention that he was aware that sometimes knights of various cape colors would come into villages and take people like him away. He remembers when a girl just a year older than him accidentally hurt her baby brother when she was trying to lift a vase that held his favorite biscuits. Merry had been crying the whole day although her brother seemed to get over it fairly quickly._

_He heard her screaming two nights later and looked out the window to watch a carriage holding a cage disappear into the darkness._

_He never saw her again._

_“I trust you,” He repeated and held fast onto his mother. The next morning, he was leaving hand-in-hand with his mother and had knapsacks filled with enough supplies to last them until arrival at Camelot._

Merlin ached at the thought of his mother. He tries not to think too much about her, or Gaius, or even Will. They hadn’t been very close as toddlers, but by the time they were about nine or ten, Merlin had used his magic to pull down the trousers of a boy trying to fight Will. Will went from only tolerating the presence of Merlin to becoming his own designated guard. They got up to mischief and told off anyone who dared try to blame them.  
His mother says his tongue only grew sharp after they began spending time together, but she never discouraged the friendship. He guesses that she was just happy to see him finally making a friend.

Well, other than Prince Arthur. But that was...complicated. Merlin could never wrap his mind around how someone could be who he wanted to be around constantly, yet also be the source of his greatest anxieties and fears.

He’s considered pissing him off enough to stop the nighttime visits, but the closest he got was the typical storming away just for Arthur to come right back the next night. Now, his desperation for human communication and touch is getting too much to handle. His skin practically vibrates at how close Arthur will sit, but he can’t reach out. He can’t.

And at the same time, having only his warmth to survive off of for the past...two years? Merlin has started to savor the rough pulling and pushing from knights when it’s time for the monthly magic session. Yes, they hurt him, but at least he’s not alone for a few moments.

Merlin wishes his mother would hold him. He yearns for it so badly he scratches and pinches the skin of his arms and hands to keep from bashing his head against the wall.  
Just to feel her warm body envelop him. For her thin, soft, dress to press against his cheek. Her fingers in his hair. Just once more. He would die happy in this prison if he could just have one more embrace from his mother.

Merlin’s throat lets a strangled wail escape. His nails dig harder until he feels a small, yet thick, drop of wetness trail down.  
He stops scratching and only quietly hiccups and stares at the stone in front of him as hot tears and snot flow from his eyes and nose.

All his senses fade away apart from a ringing in his ears.

~~

_The heavy blonde head atop his own starts to lift when they both hear the clanging of metal footsteps and hurried shouts._

_“Wonder what that’s about,” Arthur mumbles, not sounding as if he truly cares._

_Merlin stiffens, “I should check with Gaius, he might need help with a patient.”_

_“Wait,” Arthur holds his arm, “If I come to get you in the morning, will you watch me train? I’ll take you around the town and buy us both meat pies afterward. I know you don’t find fighting all that entertaining, but it would mean--I want to show you how strong I’ve gotten.”_

_The smaller boy swallowed a lump and blinked away tears. A part of him knew that he made a choice when he ran off with Arthur instead of going straight to Gaius. Those precious moments were what sealed his fate, and he signed his name.  
But this boy next to him, so willing to dive blindly into friendship without truly knowing who Merlin is. Wanting to show off, and buy food for a practical stranger. Putting aside his crown and princely air to gain the trust of a poor, farming boy from a village he hadn’t even heard of before meeting.  
And he doesn’t even know he has Merlin’s life in his hands._

_So, no. Merlin couldn’t tell the truth. Wouldn’t. Because maybe Will was right when he claimed Merlin was a glutton for punishment, but he doesn’t think he’d survive witnessing that innocent face morph into one of hatred and betrayal if he were honest._

_“Alright, I will.”_

~~

“So, Morgana keeps claiming that she knows more about my birthday feast than I do, isn’t that ridiculous? I’m the one planning the damn thing!”

_It’s his birthday already? It really has been a long time._

“And my father...well, I actually haven’t seen much of him, so I expect he’s getting riled up about some matter or another. Soon enough, he’ll complain about what I’m doing and threaten to take the throne away from me.”

“Aren’t you afraid of that?”

“Why would I?” Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m his only heir.”

“But…” Merlin trailed off, realizing no one knows about Morgana’s true bloodline, and Uther’s ramblings, on the rare occasions he comes down to visit himself, weren't meant for anyone’s ears. Uther never expected Merlin to come into contact with someone that would threaten his carefully woven lies. “You’re the prince.”

“Excellent observation, Emrys.”

It still felt weird when he called him that. It’s a name the Druids called him whenever they stumbled upon him traveling to and from Ealdor. He knows the stories and reason behind it, but they must’ve gotten something wrong because Merlin is not powerful. Warlock? Yes. The embodiment of magic itself? A bit of a stretch, really.

“Are you able to tell time?”

The question caught Merlin off guard. He looks Arthur in the eyes for the first time tonight, “Huh?”

“Can you tell time?” Arthur asks again, getting impatient.

Merlin looked away. Arthur doesn’t seem to recognize him, and Merlin could only guess how different he appears now, but he’s not willing to risk it. “Like, the sky? I’ve no need for it anymore.”

“No, I mean in here.”

“Hm,” He thought about it. “In the beginning, my hunger gave away the first few hours, but once your stomach grows numb, you can’t even rely on it for telling hunger. Then, I based the days off my nails and hair. My nails started to gross me out so I figured a way to scrape them on the floors and walls to keep them short. My hair is still growing, but I struggled to keep track of it.  
Then I overheard the guards talking about how it’s ‘that time of the month’ and they laughed as they unchained me. I began to keep track that way, but only vaguely. More to keep awareness of the schedule, rather than time passing.”

He heard Arthur shift and hum in thought. With a few clangs, he could tell Arthur was now leaning against the bars. This was when he was allowed to lift his head and look at his old friend’s form. He was much broader and taller, and his blonde was less striking, but he was still just as beautiful. As expected from a prince.

Without Arthur looking at him, he grew bold, “You actually have helped me start to truly keep track. I can’t hear crickets or owls down here, so I never knew if it was day or night. Until you started to visit. Now, I feel a little more...grounded, I suppose.”

It was quiet for a few moments, and all he could hear were the drops of water leaking between the sturdy stones of the walls. But then Arthur cleared his throat, “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.”

“I wasn’t saying I’m grateful to you, I was just stating how I felt about the change.”

“Oh, shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and please let me know if you have any questions, comments, or concerns!


	7. I Sang In My Chains Like The Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is usually the point in the story where my commitment issues and anxiety get the best of me and I never finish what I'm writing--Which probably isn't a good sign considering I want to be a writer once I'm out of school--But I've found that the commenting and kudos system kind of works like an incentive for me to continue.  
> And it also helps that I don't plan on this story lasting more than ten or so chapters, so it seems a much less daunting task to me.  
> Anyway, please enjoy and let me know what you think!

_**"Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs  
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,  
The night above the dingle starry,  
Time let me hail and climb  
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,  
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns  
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves  
Trail with daisies and barley  
Down the rivers of the windfall light."**  
\- 'Fern Hill', Dylan Thomas_

~~  
Arthur was more tired than he’s been in a long time, but he finds that he doesn’t actually mind it. After all, it’s not like he’s up writing speeches, or studying laws until his firepit grew cold. He was visiting...a person of interest.

That night, he breathes hot air into his hands and rubs them together as he walks down the castle stairs. It was abnormally cold, all things considered. It usually doesn’t get this cold for another month or two.  
Stepping into the hidden cell that night, the air seemed stale and frozen, like no matter how many breaths Arthur took, he’d never get enough air.

“I’m genuinely surprised that you’re alive after spending the past couple years down here,” Arthur settled into his usual spot.

Emrys rolled his eyes and pulled his ragged cloak over his thin hands, “It seems to be one of my talents.”

“Don’t believe in luck?”

“Not particularly.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully, but let it go, “I was hoping for better weather for my feast.”

“When is that, again?” Emrys put a hand to his head and pushed lightly on it. He always looked terrible, but Arthur noted that his dark circles seemed to bruise his eyelids, too. And his veins look more visible compared to the past nights.

Arthur studied his posture. It looked more...limp? Almost as if Emrys no longer had the energy to keep himself in a curled ball like he normally is. “Hm. Two days now?”

Emrys didn’t answer. He only leaned into the wall behind him more firmly and closed his eyes. It didn’t last long since he began to move forward, as if he couldn’t hold himself up at all. His cloak falls off his shoulders and reveals a thin, brown tunic, so loose Arthur could see the expanse of the ghostly white skin of his chest. His breastbone could be seen through his skin and there was a sharp angle inward where a stomach should be.

“I’m going to grab a couple more torches. I think I could fit them through the cell.”

Why did he care so much if a sorcerer was cold? Shouldn’t he be relieved that another evil will be gone by winter?

But his stomach churned at the idea of Emrys being gone. He’s spent very little time with the prisoner, yet there seems to be nothing evil that he can see. Sure, he might be lying or hiding his true intentions, but even so, what does he have to lie about? He’s already spent years, emaciated and subdued, within a cage.  
Even if he came to Camelot seeking vengeance, or whatever the classic magic-user claims, that’s gone now.

Arthur took his always reliable flint out of his pocket and lit a couple more torches, and carried them carefully to where Emrys was still looking like he was bowing, “I’ll have to take them back before I leave, of course, otherwise the guards will get suspicious. Heat for an extra hour will be better than none at all, though.”

He paused when he heard wheezing, “Emrys? It’s easier to breathe if you sit up, you know.” The teasing didn’t get a rise out of the sorcerer. The limp form only slouched more, and his hands fell to his side.  
“Woah!” Arthur dropped the torches and winced when the metal parts clanged against the stone floor. His pulse throbbed in his throat and deep in his ears as he waited for the heavy door to creak open. It didn’t.  
With a relieved sigh, he pressed up against the bars and reached a hand in to push at Emrys’s foot. The worn leather boot was ice-cold.

“Hey, I need you to wake up. Just make it through the night. I know it’s tiring, but don’t sleep. It’ll be warmer in the morning. Emrys! Wake up!”

He only heard more wheezing in response. Arthur grasped his foot and gave it a harsh tug. Emrys slumped to the floor with a painful-sounding thud. “Shit. Shit shit shit!” Arthur reached into his pocket once again and found the key to the dungeon. Luckily, the same one to open the door also opened the cell.  
He tried to open the whining door and set the key down as quietly as possible while also hurrying. He held Emrys up by the shoulders and gulped when his head only lulled back. The extra firelight made his face gaunter than Arthur was used to seeing, and his childhood fear of spirits walking the castle halls lit up in the back of his mind.  
The prince pushed the thought down and put a hand to the small man’s forehead. The heat brimming beneath his skin clashed worryingly with the frozen feeling of the rest of his body.

He needed medical help, but even the prince can’t carry a prisoner throughout the castle unnoticed. He doesn’t even think he’d know how to get the chains off.

When a thought crosses his mind, Arthur lays the cold man back to the floor, unties his cloak to drape across Emrys, and hurriedly walks out of the dungeon. He keeps his breathing and footsteps light, but once he’s out of earshot of the guard, he breaks into a sprint.  
Knights and servants give confused glances but with a wave of Arthur’s hand, they go about their duties.

Gaius’s chambers are something Arthur could find blind as if they’re a nest and Arthur was a homing pigeon. It was a room that provided more emotion, and guidance than the prince could ever find within any royal chambers.  
Arthur harshly knocked on the wooden door, and without waiting for an answer, he barged in panting, “Gaius! It’s an emergency!  
“Sire?” Gaius yawned but had a worried look on his face as he sat up from the cot usually reserved for patients. It must’ve been a late night for him, since the old man was still dressed in his day clothes. “What is it?”

Arthur found himself hesitating. Gaius renounced magic years ago and swore loyalty to his father during The Purge. He might be willing to help, but who’s to say he won’t also help the boy, then just abandon him to King Uther?

_No, he’s a good physician._

“Can you keep a secret?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow at him.

~~

“If I’m being honest, Sire, I didn’t expect this,” Gaius quietly mumbled as he crosses through the door of the cell, which Arthur left open in his haste, and set his bag of tools down. But Emrys is still lying there, his black hair and long legs sticking out of Arthur’s thick cloak. “You said he’s been down here for how many years?”

“Two, at least. But he’s never given an exact number. And you don’t have to whisper, that guard wouldn’t wake up if a canon were shot right next to him.”

Gaius crouched down to Emrys and pulled the cloak down. His shoulders stiffen and Arthur hears the elder man whisper to himself in disbelief.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur urged Gaius to come out of his thoughts.

“I--It can’t be,” Gaius kneels onto the cold ground and lifts Emrys into his lap. With gentle hands, he pushes the matted hair away from the young man’s face. “All this time--And I...Oh, my boy. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” His arms shook as they clung to Emrys and brought him up to hold his head in the crook of Gaius’s elbow as if he were a child.

Arthur didn’t understand what was happening, but he knew the time to be emotional could wait until they were sure Emrys would make it through the night, “Gaius, he needs your attention.”

Gaius wipes his face and reaches for his bag, “Of course. Yes, you’re right.” He rummages through, finding a cloth and candle, “Light this with your torch.”

Arthur follows his instructions and watches as Gaius drips hot candle wax into a cloth and wraps it. Once he was sure none of the wax would leak, he places it atop Emrys’s forehead. Arthur remembers Gaius using the same technique when he was young and suffering from a nasty sickness that left Arthur shivering. Gaius staying with him throughout the night, replacing the wax whenever it ran cold until his fever finally broke.

“If we could get him to my quarters, I’d have more access to things that could actually help him,” Gaius frustratingly rubbed friction into the unconscious man’s hands and arms. “Is there any way to get these blasted chains off!?”

“Even if we got a key to work, what then?” Arthur felt out of place as the voice of reason. “Sneak him in and out of this cell while he’s dangerously close to dying of cold, and risk my father finding out about...all of this? He’d die for sure, then. You might be banished at least, and I would say goodbye to any privacy, and all trust my father has in me.”

Gaius only glared at the wall, but he sighed, “Well, I’ll need you to run back to my rooms. I need plenty of herbs--I won’t bother with names, just grab any that look important and familiar to you, I’ll find a solution from there--my mortar and pestle, and you’ll have to somehow get hot water in here. Or, a pot and water. We can try to heat it above these torches.”

“Okay, got it,” Arthur nodded in determination. He got up and hurried out of the dungeon.

Once alone, Gaius turned to the warlock and brushed his knuckles across the sunken cheeks of the boy he considered a son, “Oh, Merlin. If I knew...If only...I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

Dark eyelids and pale lips quirked but stayed mostly unmoving.

Gaius kept up his ministrations with Merlin’s skin and even finger-combed his hair, “How am I going to explain this to your mother? She’ll be sent into grief all over again.” He looks around the prison cell. He smells the must, and eyes the mold growing across the damp walls. “Nevermind that. You’ve done so well, Merlin. I’m sorry you’ve been alone for so long, but that’s changing now. You’ll get out of here, somehow. You’ve been strong. Let us take it from here.”

~~

While he couldn’t get the mixture to boil, Gaius managed to heat it enough to break down the herbs enough.

Arthur was quietly sitting near the sorcerer’s feet, watching Gaius lift his head so he doesn’t choke as watered-down herbs were poured down his throat. He stretched his neck, which was sore from over an hour of poor posture, “He told me his name is Emrys.”

Gaius paused, “Is that so?”

Arthur had seen Gaius extra soft-handed with children, but even if Emrys is smaller than he ought to be, he’s not a young child. Arthur always pegged him to be close to his own age. “I don’t understand how he’s survived multiple winters down here. And why is today the one that gets him?”

“It won’t get him,” Gaius insists before pouring more of the mixture into the young man’s mouth, and massaging his throat to encourage him to swallow. “And if what you say is true, then he’s not sick because of the cold. It’s cold because Emrys is sick.”

“What does that mean?” Arthur furrows his brows. The physician is quiet and points to his ears. Arthur listens. And he hears it; the howling wind bringing frozen air trailing behind its wings. But they’re below ground, it shouldn’t be so loud. “ _He’s_ causing the abnormal weather? The iron--he can’t access his magic, though.”

Gaius sets his head back into his lap. His legs must be stiff and sore by now, but it seems he has no intention of putting the sorcerer back onto the ground. “No, he can’t. But his magic has access to the Earth. With these chains, the world around him is covered in a dense fog. Even so, his magic is like a messenger to the Earth, and right now it’s telling nature that its beloved creation is in danger, so it’s lashing out.”

“So he meant it when he said nature created him?”

“Well, he obviously didn’t pop out of the ground like a flower; he has parents, but yes.”

“Why?”

Gaius tapped his finger on Emrys’s chest in consideration, “I’ve only heard stories, all these years. I can’t be sure of the absolute.”

~~

Just as the sky began turning purple, the wind slowed and the frost layering windows began to thaw. Camelot spoke in awe of how they shivered throughout the night, yet shed the extra fur-lined blankets by morning.

Arthur was hunched over in sleep that had him stirring often, but mostly stayed in place rather than put his face amongst the dirt and wetness of the stone floor.

Gaius watched Merlin’s face scrunch and quiver, and found himself heaving breaths of relief, “That’s it, my boy, wake up.”

Blue eyes cracked open and a low whine made its way out of Merlin’s mouth as he lifted a hand to cradle his head, “Wha--Where? _Gaius_!” Merlin had wide eyes as he stared at his surrogate father, who seemed more wrinkled and soft than the face he had in his head for years. With words lost, rattling somewhere in his head, he threw his arms around the old man. Chains painfully scraping along the stone.  
Tears brimmed his eyes as he took in the feeling of warm clothing and flesh beneath his own skin. He smelled like strong tea and smoke, and slight perspiration but it was perfect. It was perfect because he had worried all this time about his caretaker’s health. It was perfect because even as he was dragged from his quarters all that time ago, he couldn’t bear to say anything to the fear-stricken face staring back at him. What was there to say?  
When he was thrown into these dungeons, guilt ate away at him for not saying goodbye, and he often found himself spiraling at the thought of never being able to.

And now he could. Properly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Gaius,” Merlin clung onto his robes and let his tears soak them. “I wanted _so badly_ -”

“Hush,” Gaius stroked his head, “It doesn’t matter, Merlin. Not anymore. At least I know where you are, now.”

“Merlin?”

The pair turned to see Arthur awake and staring in disbelief. Gaius tightened his hold on Merlin, and Merlin closed his eyes and grimaced.

Arthur began to shakily stand, “ _You’re Merlin?_ ” He only received silence. “I knew you looked similar, but...This is...You were dead! I was told you were dead!”

“I truly believed him to be, Sire,” Gaius spoke softly. “When the guard took him away, I had thought they were sure to kill him. And when no pyre was built, I assumed they opted for a private and secret method due to him being so close to the royal court. He was trusted to work under their physician, after all.”

“I thought you were dead. All this time…”

Merlin seemed to realize something and sat up, extracting himself from the old man’s grasp, “How long was I out? What time is it? You cannot risk being here in the day. Both of you, please, _please_ leave.”

Gaius solemnly nodded and packed up his belongings, putting the torches out and in their rightful places, before shuffling out of the dungeon as quietly as possible, giving one last teary smile to his ward before leaving.  
Arthur only stared at Merlin, shock still evident on his face.

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin pleaded. “I’ll explain everything, but please, you need to leave. If you get caught down here, I’ll never get the chance to.”

Something in Arthur registers Merlin’s words because he stumbles out of the cell and silently locks it, only taking his eyes off Merlin when he reaches the dungeon door.

Merlin lowers his head to his chest. His mind whirling with fear and uncertainty. The blonde had barely any emotion, but he was still waiting for the realization of his own betrayal to kick the prince into action.  
Those wide, blue eyes and messy blonde hair, with lips tightened into a thin line...could very well be the last time he sees his childhood friend.

_Please come back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I don't know how to get rid of the first ending note. It shows up every chapter (And I'm sure I unknowingly chose that option) and it always catches me off guard. Oh well.  
> Have a good day/night y'all!


	8. Letting Wisdom Be The Whole Of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

_**"People have filled the room he lies above.  
Their talk, mild variation, chilling theme,  
Falls on the child. Awake and wearied of ** _

_**Mere pain, mere wisdom also, he would have  
All the world waking from its winter dream,  
Letting its wisdom be. The whole of love  
Falls on the child awake and wearied of."**_ **  
\- 'The World and the Child', James Merrill**  
~~

Arthur didn’t return the next day. He couldn’t. A part of him scolded himself because something he’s wanted for so long is now within reach. He can talk to his one true friend. He can make fun of him, and be made fun of back with no regard to status. He can sneak extra fruit tarts and talk about their favorite stories, or complain of the adults in their lives.  
But they are adults now, or damn well near it.

If he walks down into those dungeons, it’ll feel like he’s stepping through time to talk to a ghost. It would be easier if their child selves could come back and do all the talking for them. Nothing ever seemed this important back then.  
He wishes he could be fourteen again, or ten, or eight. He would just look at Merlin and demand to know what took him so long to show up. And child Merlin would...Well, he was always an enigma, but Arthur knows to expect brutal honesty.

_Except for this._

Arthur held on to the anger. It was safe to be angry at the boy who let him think he was dead. And a stranger.  
It was easier to be angry than sad.

~~

“Arthur, are you paying attention?” Uther asks exasperatedly.

“Hm?”

His father frowns at him, “This is your birthday feast we’re talking about here! It may not be as glorious as trusting you with a regiment of soldiers, but it is still an honorable duty as Crown Prince.”

“I know,” Arthur rubbed his face with his hand. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

Uther only muttered to himself while gesturing to have his water refilled. Arthur picks at a slice of rye bread. He feels Morgana’s stare, but can’t be bothered to return it.

“I think the feast will turn out splendid,” Morgana set her knife down and let a servant take her plate away.

Arthur looks up in surprise since usually Morgana prefers causing trouble for Arthur than relieving it.

“Really?” Uther says slowly with a suspicious glare at both of them.

_Yeah, what the hell?_

Morgana nods, “I’ve overheard some servants talking about how wonderfully he’s been planning it. Even I was impressed by their praise.”

Uther looked at each of them, trying to spot the lie. But Arthur just put on a proud face and Morgana rolled her eyes. The king rolled his tongue over his teeth, and with a click, stood up from the table, “Then I trust your judgment, son. I will be in my chambers, looking over the recent crop harvests.”

Once the king was gone, Arthur turned to Morgana, “What is it you want?”

The woman across from him only checked to make sure no food got under her nails, before flicking her cool green eyes to him, “An advisor, Brom, visited yesterday to speak to Uther about the feast’s financing. The meeting seemed to have gone smoothly since your father was in no worse mood than he always is, but Brom was standing with Sir Lief just outside my rooms, and my door was ajar since Gwen only left to grab me some food.  
Brom told the knight, _‘Where there is no cat, the rat is king’_. In case the saying is lost on you, just understand that you are the rat.”

“What use is in knowing that?” Arthur clenched his fists.

“All information is good, Arthur,” Morgana urged. “Especially when you’re in line for the throne! Those advisors don’t think you’ll make a good king. Uther only wishes for you to be proper, and an exact copy of himself. The citizens of Camelot can only pray you’re decent.  
I realize this feast seems silly and below you, but this is your chance to climb the mountain! It’s a test, and you need to take it seriously. _Climb, Arthur_. You are not immune to falling.”

Morgana stands with all her grace, and sharply turns, letting her raven hair whip behind her as she exits the hall.

~~

Arthur found himself standing outside of the physician’s chambers but unable to go in. He was thinking about Morgana, his father, and the throne. And Merlin, no matter how hard he tried to expel him from his mind.

Turns out, Gaius wasn’t even in his chambers, because he sees the old man round the corner with empty vials and a satchel with materials clanging around. Arthur doesn’t need to ask to know where he’s coming from, “Bit risky during the day isn’t it?”

Gaius looks surprised to see him there, but quickly masks it, “I’m a physician. If I offer a guard some tea because I’m worried about them being below ground for so long, they drink it.”

“Hm,” Arthur finds himself not fazed at the idea of Gaius drugging royal personnel. He wants to ask how Merlin is, but that feels like a mistake. Like it’ll send Gaius into a fatherly rage, not that he’s capable of such a thing, or the sadness will finally catch up to him after hours--years of pushing it down. “I didn’t realize so much was riding on my birthday feast. Or that so many doubt me.”

Gaius sighs, puts the vials into his satchel, and leans onto the wall next to Arthur, “It requires a great amount of planning, organization, and patience. All good attributes in a ruler.”

“All attributes I’m known to lack.”

Gaius looks at him with his hands folded against his stomach, slightly protruding from age, “You are young. And you’re not King, yet. Many citizens will be understanding.”

“So, even you expect me to fail?”

“Everyone fails, Sire. Failure is not permanent.”

Arthur looks away, “Not according to my father.”

“Merlin always believed in you,” Gaius suddenly said. Arthur’s breath hitched at the sound of his name. He’s still not used to it. “He called you a fool, a prat, and many other things, but unworthy was never one of them. Despite everything, he still thinks you’ll amount to greatness. He’s even got me convinced.”

Arthur’s throat felt thick all of a sudden and he had to allow himself a few moments of silence before speaking, “I’m so confused. All my life, I’ve been taught that magic is for the low, the monstrous. But I don’t feel any of that with him. I feel...safe.”

Gaius seems to be carefully weighing his words, “The same wolf that howls to the moon growls at the man. The sword you wield to protect lives can take just as many. The thieves you throw into dungeons often were stealing to provide for their family.  
Magic does not make monsters, fear does. And fear is something any creature alive can succumb to.”

~~

The next morning, Arthur was immediately met with servant after servant, advisor after advisor. He had important tasks he needed to deal with, but the feast came first.

He still trusted most of the decorating and music to others who had countless festivities under their belt, but he made sure to personally see to the speeches and seating. He rewrote his own after he found it stuffed in the back of a drawer, and made sure to add more about Camelot and his pride in her citizens. He even touched up his father’s and Morgana’s, making sure they went along with his, almost like a conversation.

Yes, the flowers were delivered in time, the bread is baking, and the tables are in place. He personally picked out a few songs for the musicians to play and handed them to a very happy-looking servant.

Arthur tried to brush off his own joy since the hard part hasn’t even begun.

~~

_“You little-!” The man fisted Merlin’s shirt but flinched away when the young boy brought his hands up in defense. “Just, clean this up before I decide you’re better off gone.”_

_Little Merlin was scared and confused, but he knew when an escape revealed itself, “Yes, sir!”  
He turned and ran towards the old shack. Or, lack thereof. He had gotten upset earlier and without realizing it, his magic lashed out and caused the old wooden hut to crumble. It only held their winter storage of blankets, pots, and building supplies, but enough were upset that he caused the damage in the first place, that it still being the beginning of summer didn’t matter one bit._

_Oh, well. Just an increase in glares as they rebuild and restock what broke. His mother will offer them extra bread for their troubles, and eventually, they’ll forget._

_Merlin heaved a particularly heavy plank of wood and began dragging it to the pile he designated for the villagers to take for their fireplaces when a voice sounded behind him, “You’ve gotta learn your place if you want to survive.”_

_He dropped the wood with a yelp, and cradled his scraped hand before turning, “M-my place? What does that mean?”_

_The older man, with frown lines on his forehead, and dark eyes, kept a blank face, “You understand danger when it’s right in your face, but you never sense it coming. You feel safe because this is where you eat, shit, and sleep, yet these people would tie you to the stake themselves if it meant not having to deal with the danger you bring.”_

_“But...I’m not dangerous,” Merlin backed away from the man. He realized he doesn’t know his name since he’s usually silent. Just one of the shadows in the village. “My mother-”_

_“Not dangerous? Merlin, look around!”_

_The young boy’s breath leaves his body when he hears his name. Mostly, he answers to ‘boy’, ‘sorcerer’, or even ‘witch’ if the older children want to be cruel. But he gets a hold of himself and looks at the destroyed structure. The wood is splintered and spread out beside shards of pottery and scraps of wool. He notices the broken window of the house to its left, debris likely flew out and shattered it._

_“You are dangerous, and people will go to extremes to protect their own.”_

_“I don’t mean to. I just-I get overwhelmed and emotional.”_

_The man scowls before bending to pick up the wood Merlin dropped, he tosses it into the growing pile of firewood, “Yeah, well, that’ll put you to the pyre one day.”_

_Merlin began to tear up, “I don’t wanna burn! I can’t!”_

_“You can and you will if you don’t get real. You can’t afford to have your head in the clouds. No one can protect you, Merlin, only yourself.”_

_“My Mama says-”_

_“Men with swords and pitchforks don’t give a flying fuck what your mother says. She’ll die trying to save you, I don’t doubt that, what I do doubt is your strength. No one is on your side, and betrayal is around every corner.”_

_Merlin gulped as the man stepped into his personal space. He could see the black soot built up in the man’s hard skin from hours of labor, “Why are you telling me this?”_

_“Because life doesn’t get any easier. It’ll only be dark and treacherous for someone like you. It’s time you realize that.” He straightened his back, and kept the severe look on his face as he stared at Merlin. “I recommend you have this sorted out by sunset. It’s not good for the villagers to go to bed angry.”_

_Merlin watched the strange man walk away. He let himself ruminate on the words spoken between the two, then gasped and quickly got back to work._

~~

“Merlin?”

The boy startled and looked to see someone he hadn’t expected to see for a long time.

Arthur looked embarrassed and he walked in, holding a pile of what looked like blankets, and a pair of clippers tucked into his waistband. Merlin could only stare as Arthur unlocked the door, stepped in, and set his items down, “I’m sorry I’m late, but I was busy today. I only have a short amount of free time before I need to head back, and was hoping to speak to you so that tonight doesn’t come as a surprise.”

“I’ll answer any questions,” Merlin promised. He doesn’t know what useful information he has left, but if it means gaining just a little more trust from Arthur, he’ll figure it out.

“Good,” Arthur nodded and picked up a blanket, only to reveal that it was a white, long-sleeved shirt, “Because I was wondering if you would prefer a red vest, or maybe black to be more inconspicuous.”

Merlin was reeling, “I-Wait, what?”

Arthur looked thoughtful and eyed Merlin, “Maybe I can find a blue one, if you like that color more.”

Merlin only stared in confusion, almost too scared to answer. What if it was a trick? Or punishment for tricking the prince into comfort only to be stabbed in the back?

“Hm? Oh, I suppose we should start with a haircut. It’s too long anyway, and I’ve always found that once the hair is styled, the rest of the clothes will make more sense,” Arthur reached for the clippers and shifted closer to Merlin. “Hold still, I’m not exactly an expert, but it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Merlin pulled away, “I think I’d rather you beat me.”

Arthur frowned, “Do you like your hair long? I was hoping you’d be unrecognizable tonight, but I suppose I can find a hat to cover your hair.”

“No, I mean-” Merlin let out a frustrated sigh. “I have magic. I lied to you. Aren’t you mad? Don’t you want to punish me?”

Arthur lowered his eyes and rested his hands, and the clippers, in his lap, “I was. Maybe I still am. However, you’ve been suffering here all this time. You’ve been alone, and used by my father for years. I think that’s punishment enough for now. Maybe it’s childish, but I have a lot I want to do, and we’re kinda on borrowed time for tonight. We have the rest of our lives to be mad at each other.”

Merlin didn’t realize he had tears until the warmth trailed down his cheeks. He wiped them and smiled at his old friend, “We’ll have to talk eventually.”

“I know,” Arthur picked up the clippers and grasped one of Merlin’s overgrown strands of hair. “But I want to celebrate my birthday with you. Like before. We’ll sneak you out while most of the guards are drunk, after my father retires for the night, and you’ll be back before anyone notices.”

“They’ll notice my hair being shorter tomorrow.”

“Say you found a sharp rock and cut it, or it’s falling out from stress. I don’t care what excuse you come up with, but these locks of grime and oil have got to go.”

They were both surprised by the laughter coming from Merlin, “Not all of it, please. It’s humiliating to be my age and balding.”

“I’ll do it however I please, thank you very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit short, mostly because I want the feast to be a chapter of its own. Anyway, this one dealt with both the boys having moments of realized maturity, and why their maturity levels were so different as children. Merlin had to grow up faster, and Arthur needed a bit more pushing before his own acceptance of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll answer any questions since I'm sure some things might need clarity (still getting used to this website), unless it's a spoiler, of course.


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